


Secondary Trauma

by enigmaticblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Dungeon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:25:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8390680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: What throws Mary off is how easily her boys seem to be able to brush off getting locked in a basement and tortured.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt, “dungeons.” This season looks like it’s going to be good for my muse.

At first, Mary can’t quite figure out what the hardest thing is about time traveling thirty years into the future—or dying and being resurrected thirty years later. She’s not really sure how to frame it.

 

There are all the things she has to learn, the changes that have occurred, and she feels out of place and as though she’s constantly playing catch up. That’s hard.

 

Seeing her boys all grown up is hard, knowing how much she’s missed out on. When Sam comes to visit her in her room, she can’t quite reconcile the huge man in front of her, hesitantly offering a cup of tea, with the baby he’d been just a few days ago by her reckoning.

 

If she’d been here, she would have seen them grow, watched as Sam sprouted up and filled out. He wouldn’t be a stranger.

 

He hugs her tightly after a few moments, and she can feel his breath hitch. His face when he professed how much her presence means is fresh in her mind.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks when she pulls back.

 

Sam frowns, as though he doesn’t quite understand the question. “Me?”

 

“You went through a fairly traumatic experience,” Mary points out. “I mean, getting chained up and…” She trails off when he still appears puzzled. “Is that normal for you?”

 

Sam opens his mouth, pauses, and then laughs. “I’m not sure anything in our lives is _normal_.”

 

“But it’s happened before?” she presses.

 

Sam hitches a shoulder and replies, “You and Dean and Cas showed up to save me. That’s the important thing.”

 

But Mary can’t quite shake the feeling that what happened in that basement dungeon doesn’t even rate on the scale of traumatic events for Sam’s life.

 

She can’t quite shake the feeling that she’s responsible.

 

Mary finds Dean the following night. He’d been quiet all day while they holed up in the bunker to give Sam time to recover, mostly avoiding her in favor of spending hours in the kitchen and talking on the phone with Castiel.

 

She waits until after dinner to approach Dean. He’s drinking a beer and staring at his phone as though willing it to ring, and she asks, “Castiel?”

 

“Yeah, he had something, but he’s supposed to call me when he gets there,” Dean replies, clearly distracted. He lets out a breath. “Nothing new there. What’s up?”

 

Mary looks at him and tries to see the child she remembers. He’d been such a sweet boy, willing to give kisses and hugs, always wanting to help even if it meant he was underfoot, doting on his little brother.

 

Dean had been thrilled and absolutely puffed up with pride to know he was going to be a brother. “I’m going to be the best big brother ever!” he’d declared.

 

And that memory is the link she needs to see the boy she remembers in the man Dean is now.

 

“I wanted to ask you something,” she says, sitting down across from him.

 

He tips his beer bottle back. “Shoot.”

 

She remembers her father, who’d unwound after a hunt with a few beers, and knows that this drink isn’t Dean’s first and won’t be his last. Not that Mary is going to object.

 

“Does Sam seem okay to you?” Mary asks.

 

Dean frowns. “Sam? He’s a little sore, and it would be better if Cas had the mojo to heal him like he used to, but given a little time, he’ll be fine.”

 

Mary blinks, unsure how to parse that information, but decides to focus on the important part. “No, I mean emotionally. He was tortured.”

 

Dean rubs his mouth. “Ah, yeah.”

 

“That’s not the first time.”

 

Dean suddenly looks every one of his thirty-seven years, and Mary realizes that he’s older than she is, at least in the number of years on earth. “Mom—you have to know that I have always done everything I could to protect him.”

 

“I have no doubts about that,” she says immediately. “That’s not—I don’t blame you. I blame myself.”

 

Dean gives her a long look. “You want a beer?”

 

Drinking with her son feels a little weird, but Mary nods. “Yeah, I’d take a beer.”

 

He grabs one from the fridge and twists off the cap, handing it to her. “I’ve been doing this job a long time,” he says quietly. “I’ve made bad calls that had unintended consequences—and so has Sam. Hindsight being 20/20, there are things I wish I’d done differently, choices I wish I hadn’t made. But the thing I’ve realized is that I did the best I could with the information and choices I had at the time.”

 

Mary stares at the label on the bottle, and it’s an unfamiliar brand, something she’s never heard of before. “I never wanted this for you.”

 

Dean finishes off his beer and sets the bottle down on the table. “A friend of ours, Bobby, used to say that you don’t choose hunting, hunting chooses you. Sam and me—we could have gotten out. We both nearly did, but things happened. We had to make a call, and we did the best we could.”

 

“I’m sure you did,” Mary insists. “I _know_ you did.”

 

“So do I,” Dean replies simply. “Mom—we’ve dealt with a lot of crap, and some of it— _a lot_ of it—was pretty awful, but Sam knows he’s got me, and I know I’ve got him. That’s what we hang on to.”

 

His phone vibrates and Dean hesitates.

 

“You should take that,” Mary says. “I’ll be fine.”

 

Dean glances at the screen. “Are you sure?”

 

“Tell Castiel I said hello,” Mary replies.

 

He nods and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “Will do.” He grabs the phone and says, “Hey, man. You okay?”

 

Mary presses a hand to her cheek, feeling a hit of nostalgia, remembering when Dean had done just that as a little boy.

 

She still feels a measure of guilt, and she doesn’t think that will ever go away, but Dean’s absolution means more than she’d ever thought possible.

 

“Drinking alone?” Sam asks, poking his head inside.

 

She manages a smile. “Not if you’re drinking with me.”

 

“How can I refuse that invitation?” Sam asks and grabs a beer of his own. “I’m really okay, you know.”

 

Mary reaches across the table to grab his hand. “Yeah, I know.”

 

One of these days, she might be okay, too.


End file.
